


Full Circle

by Tinderbox of Sanity (Sephielya_J_Maxwell)



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephielya_J_Maxwell/pseuds/Tinderbox%20of%20Sanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you miss me, pal?” He spit the older man’s words back at him. They had always announced Maxwell's arrival. Maxwell only grinned, and even though it was no longer quite so frightening, Wilson’s stomach twisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday gift for my dear friend Barons!

The way that Wilson thought was different now. He’d thrown off the useless ‘gentleman’ part of his title, and become the scientist that he was meant to be. His first test subject would be none other than the man who had just put him through literal hell. Wilson’s sanity was his conscience, and one’s conscience was useless in the end. After all, how long had Maxwell thrived on this very throne? That man certainly had neither of those!

With the influx of knowledge added to his growing ego, Wilson felt unstoppable. That small part of him that was terrified could go away too; or at least be locked up so deeply inside that it would never find its way out! There was one thing that Wilson had always appreciated about Maxwell, actually. Of course, that would be his dapper style. With his new abilities, Wilson could finally achieve that last token of power. A pitch-black three-piece suit, one which was perfectly tailored to fit his slender body. Snug trousers, a waistcoat, and a flawless tailcoat to top it off. Contrasting that was his stark white shirt, which was such a blessing when compared to the filthy, tattered remains of his old one. His boots were perhaps a guilty pleasure. He hated that the former-demon Maxwell’s height had always towered over him. He couldn’t do much about his height, not even with the thick heels of his boots, but they gave him a bit of a boost.

His plots and plans for new creations flowed freely through him, but Wilson’s desire for revenge was a bit particular at first. He wanted to see Maxwell suffer at the hands of his own creations. Really, it was a respectful death if you asked any scientist. Let them go out because of something that they had created with their own hands. It was better than Maxwell deserved; which was precisely why Wilson had only become more frustrated when Maxwell appeared to be doing just fine. His creations had all forgotten him, or perhaps they’d always hated him, and this was their chance! Yet Maxwell outsmarted them, cut them down without mercy, and used them to his advantage.

Wilson wanted Maxwell to _suffer_. No one alive could blame him for that! Yet no matter which way that the former puppet-master was able to die in this world, none of them would have satisfied the scientist. Sometimes, Maxwell would summon shadow puppets. Wilson was both impressed and furious that the man still had any power left at all. Yet seeing even the sliver of power that the older man had always held against him made Wilson’s stomach flutter. The memories which invaded him were vulgar and sordid pictures, sounds, and ghostly sensations. Naked skin against the coal-black shadows, vivid red blood slipping down the both of them, and that repulsively smug grin. The smell of Maxwell’s cigar could make his eyes water just from memory, and along with the chill of his own lingering shadows, it was impossible not to become lost in reminiscence. The color of the bruises, the itch of healing scabs, and the layer of invisible filth that Wilson would never again be free of, were all so recent that he could still imagine them perfectly.

 

It was the one thing that his logical mind couldn’t quite grasp. Why, God why, did his body ache so pleasantly from recalling those terrible events in his life? It was _lonely_ just watching. The hate that he felt for Maxwell was intense, and it was very real. But the former-puppet master’s freakishly long fingers had reached in and wrapped around his mind long ago, and he just couldn’t shake it. This sort of radical acceptance only ended with up a warped logic; the only way to get rid of temptation was to yield to it.

 

     That evening, Wilson found Maxwell resting beside the campfire. He hated the older man’s courage to sleep! A smile was the first thing that greeted Maxwell upon opening his eyes to see what had blocked the firelight. It was funny how tall that Wilson appeared to be from the ground looking up. The demon scientist was no taller than he was before, unfortunately for him. Wilson’s crooked smile was thin as a razor, and his eyes were no duller. Wilson’s piercing gaze stood out from the pronounced shadows around his eyes. “Did you miss me, pal?” He spit the older man’s words back at him. They had always announced Maxwell's arrival. Maxwell only grinned, and even though it was no longer quite so frightening, Wilson’s stomach twisted.

 

“Were you gone?” The magician answered a little gruffly. This answer proved unsatisfactory for Wilson, whose brow twitched as his fingers curled and uncurled restlessly. Thin black spikes of shadow shot up from the ground on either side of Maxwell from where he lay. They curled into fingers, wrapping around his chest and arms, and effortlessly forcing him to turn onto his back and then pushing him to sit up straight. Only then did Maxwell look even slightly displeased. “Could you at least watch the suit?” He muttered, brows pulled into an irritated frown.

 

“Watch it? Like this?” The large hand around Maxwell faded, while two smaller ones rose. They ripped open Maxwell’s jacket coat, which earned Wilson a full on glare from older man as he leaned back on his hands.

 

“Is that the best you can,” Maxwell’s words froze mid-sentence. Glancing down to what he had felt, he confirmed that there was a shadowed hand grasping at his thigh. When he tried to lift his right hand from the ground, he found his wrist captured by another shadow, the left soon facing the same fate. Another hand reached up to press against his inner right thigh, sliding up until it cupped the front of his trousers. Maxwell’s breath hitched slightly, and his back straightened as it began to rub.

 

“How many times did you do this to me, Maxwell?” Wilson asked, arms behind his back, holding his own wrists as he began to slowly circle the magician. He stopped behind him, dropping to his knees and pressing his cheek against the back of Maxwell’s shoulders. The scientist breathed in deeply through his nose, taking in the familiar and yet foreign scent. Lacking, thankfully, was the pungent scent of a cigar. Maxwell smelled of the wilderness now, something that was much more appealing to Wilson.

 

“C-countless.” The magician answered, not bothering to fight when his ankles were seized by more hands, forcing him to keep his long legs out straight. Wilson’s hands came around from behind; lifting up to the front of Maxwell’s chest, his black fingers slid down along the buttons of his waistcoat. They weren’t even gloved, simply black as the shadows that currently held—and accosted Maxwell. Wilson’s fingers curled into the waistcoat, yanking it open and sending the buttons sprawling out. Maxwell gave a sound of displeasure, or at least Wilson thought it was, until the magician’s breath grew lighter. “I’d like to point out that I, ngh, left you dressed more often than not.” He stated just as Wilson’s hands touched his shirt. This brought Wilson back to his feet, moving around in front of Maxwell.

 

“Yes, that’s right.” Wilson’s pale face had gained a bit of color to the cheeks, and he bit his lower lip as he stepped across Maxwell’s legs with his right foot. Slowly lowering himself to his knees, Wilson’s arms lifted to rest over the magician’s shoulders. “You only undressed what part of me you wanted at the time, right?” The scientist’s brows raised curiously, his fingers curling into the hair behind Maxwell’s head, running his nails over his scalp.

 

“What use was anything else?” Maxwell asked with a grin. While it wasn’t quite the same as the one he used to have, it was too good of an imitation to ignore. Wilson felt his anger rising, and Maxwell’s body gave a sudden jolt, his expression strained. Glancing down, Wilson saw that the hand which had been so gently teasing Maxwell’s member through his trousers had instead taken a firm grip. Wilson laughed, his pitch high and delighted.

 

“I’m still getting the hang of it. And I have to say, you’re a suitable test subject.” He explained, reaching down with his right hand. The shadow dissipated, replaced by the warmth of those slender fingers as they traced the shape of Maxwell’s nearly full arousal through his trousers. A shudder of pleasure passed through Wilson as he recalled the irreplaceable sensation of being filled so completely by it. It was the only time that he had felt anything other than the crushing weight of his miserable life here! The magician’s face was pulled into one of resistance now, but there was color on his cheeks. That once perfect hair was mussed too, and with his coat and waistcoat a wreck, Maxwell was only a fraction of his former self it seemed. “Only the part that I want?” Wilson stated, as if to himself. He lowered his left hand quickly, working on unfastening Maxwell’s pants. The magician opened his mouth to reply, and whether it was with a snide remark or a curse, his mouth was covered by a shadowed hand before he could voice it. “See now, you always ruined it by talking.” Wilson scolded.

 

Reaching inside of Maxwell’s pants, he wrapped his fingers around the length of flesh that he’d been teasing. Pulling it out, the scientist gave it a few slow strokes, laughing when he received a glare in return. “It’s alright, Maxwell.” Wilson murmured, “ _I understand you now_.” He nearly whispered, abandoning Maxwell’s arousal for the purpose of undoing his own tailcoat. Once shrugged from his shoulders, he started in on his waistcoat. He kissed Maxwell’s chin, prompting the older man to turn his head away. “Don’t be so cold, pal!” Wilson scolded, repeating more of Maxwell’s old words right back to him. Shrugging off his waistcoat, the demon scientist sighed. “You were only lonely, right?” Wilson moved to stand, unfastening his own trousers along the way. “I get it now.” His thumbs slid under the band of his trousers, and he smile grew even more crooked somehow. “So I won’t go easy on you.” He pushed them from his narrow hips and revealing his long legs, allowing them to catch at his ankles. Short or not, Wilson’s body was nearly perfectly proportioned. The ends of his shirt fell just low enough to barely cover the front of him, leaving his own shameless arousal quite exposed. He enjoyed the sight of the magician sitting before him like this, held fast by shadow hands and looking at up him with dilated eyes. Yes, this must have been how Maxwell felt all those times! Reaching down, he freed his right foot completely, a feat with his boot still on. Once this was accomplished, he left them clinging to his left ankle, dropping smoothly back down to his knees once he had accomplished this.

 

“We’re both trapped here, Maxwell. I might as well make the best of it, as you did with me.” Wilson reached up to grasp the back of Maxwell’s neck, forcing his back to bend as he pulled him down, closer to his face. When the scientist’s lips nearly met the shadowy fingers of the hand covering Maxwell’s mouth, he whispered, nearly hissed, to him. “ _But you’ve given my body very different cravings._ ” He heard Maxwell groan when a tendril of shadow began to wrap around his erection. It wriggled and slithered over it, covering it completely. The magician shuddered, his breath quickly became shallow, and Wilson chuckled. A shadow-hand lifted from below him, running up along the inside of Wilson’s thigh. “Strange, isn’t it? I’ve- _avh_ ,” Wilson gasped, hardened nails digging in to Maxwell’s neck as he felt the first of the shadow-hand’s digits slide inside of him. “ _Mm,_ I’ve always pre, preferred,” Wilson bit his lower lip, his left hand reaching for Maxwell’s hip to steady himself. He dug his nails in there as well when the second digit entered him, ripping through Maxwell’s shirt to catch his skin for shallow punctures. “ _Hands_! I’ve always preferred hands to _, mmh,_ to t-tendrils _._ ” Wilson’s breath was short, but the furrow of his brows could only stem from frustration.

 

“But it’s,” He panted, “It’s no use by one’s self, is it? L-like using your left, ha, hand.” There still some things that the scientist couldn’t come right out and say. Frankly, it wasn’t very satisfying if you used your own shadows for these purposes. But Maxwell seemed to know what he meant, and he pressed his nose to Wilson’s temple, his heavy breaths tickling the new puppet master’s skin. “Good.” Wilson smiled again as they reached a silent agreement. Maxwell had never asked for forgiveness for using Wilson, and he didn’t really want it. After all, Wilson didn’t need to forgive what he was returning. But in the meantime, Wilson intended to keep the habit that the previous king had passed down to him. The tendril slid away from Maxwell’s arousal, leaving it a bit slick. Not that it mattered much to Wilson, as desperate as he was. The shadow-hand which had been preparing him fell away and faded, and he was positioning himself over Maxwell’s lap with the next breath.

 

“You were lonely, and bored.” Wilson stated as he released the back of Maxwell’s neck, grasping his shoulder instead. Reaching back with his that hand, Wilson carefully guided Maxwell’s generous member up into place, biting his lower lip when he felt the head press against his entrance. “So you used me. Hurt me, humiliated, and demoralized me.” Wilson paused as his breath hitched; feeling Maxwell tense under him as the head of the magician’s cock slowly sank into the scientist’s tight body. Wilson’s lips parted for slow, heavy breaths, quiet whines escaping his throat now and then as he continued to lower his hips without pause. As soon as his naked backside rest against Maxwell’s mostly unclothed lap, the both of them shuddered. “ _Mm,_ it’s not so bad when you’re quiet.” Wilson admitted, biting down on his own lower lip again. _Finally,_ he could feel this sensation again. He’d cast aside all the unnecessary shame involved with enjoying this along with his conscience!

 

Wilson was sure he didn’t have to say it, as his expression would betray him anyway. Raising his hand to grasp Maxwell’s unoccupied shoulder, the new puppet master released his captive lower lip, gathering his strength and lifting his hips. The first time he came down, it was slow, cautious. The second drew out a muffled groan from the tall man under him, and by the third Wilson’s curled his fingers into Maxwell’s coat. Soon enough Wilson’s thighs were burning with the effort that it took to raise and lower his body, but the overwhelming pleasure was more than enough to keep him going. The friction of their skin, the ease with which his body accepted that length into him again and again, the heat between their bodies that caused their skin to itch under their clothes, and how for the first time, Wilson enjoyed the feel of open air against his bare skin. For a few short minutes, he could escape this endless loop of days and seasons. There was no loneliness, and no suffering, only this false bliss. The sound of Maxwell’s muffled groans were outmatched by Wilson’s gasps and cries of pleasure. Maxwell had always had fun trying to force Wilson to be louder, to attract dangerous things. When the tables were turned, Wilson had the advantage this time.

 

Maxwell’s arms began to shake, tired from having little choice but to lean back on them. And while a part of Wilson wanted to hear that familiar voice, the larger part of him wanted nothing to do with the magician’s haughty words. Small pebbles in the dirt dug into Wilson’s bare knees, but each little twinge of pain only spurred him on. Maxwell managed to dig his heels into the ground somehow, and Wilson was surprised by a lift of the taller man’s hips. It was enough to jolt his smaller body, and Wilson nearly lost his rhythm. Excited at the challenge, Wilson only smiled. Resituating his left hand onto Maxwell’s chest, his nails bit into clothing and skin as he forced his body to compensate for the change of pace.

 

Wilson’s right hand drifted down to take his erection in hand. He began to stroke himself with the same shameless joy that he had in _taking_ this pleasure from Maxwell. Maxwell was an experiment, a pawn, a plaything. As usual, Maxwell came first. Wilson had always hated for him to come inside and leave him with a mess, but this was different. The magician would be left to clean himself up this time! Wilson reached his own climax came soon after, spilling his seed across Maxwell’s shirt. Wilson’s thighs gave out, and he set nestled against the taller man for a few moments, trembling in relief. When Maxwell shifted under him, the scientist came back around. Sitting up, he patted the other man’s cheek. “You did good, pal.” Wilson said in a strangely cheery voice. Standing up on slightly wobbly legs, he managed not to stumble as he brought his back leg across Maxwell’s thighs, bending down to pull his pants up. He couldn’t hide his laugh when he got a good look at Maxwell while he was standing.

 

The once dapper magician was pretty disgraceful at the moment. Tattered coat, torn waistcoat, ripped shirt with a bit of blood at his hip, chest, and shoulder, not to mention the shameful white substance across it, open pants, and completely exposed. Bending at the waist, he took a hold of Maxwell’s chin. Now that he was coming down from his own high, the magician’s eyes had turned angry again. Wilson’s lips pressed against the fingers of the shadow covering Maxwell’s mouth. “You won’t be lonely for long. I’ve decided that I’m going to show you how it’s really done. Expect some exciting new changes tomorrow.” He chuckled, standing up and stepping back. In another step he was gone, and with him went the shadows.


End file.
